Free The Berlin Connection by Johannes Mario Simmel Page A

smile, shake hands, sign autographs.
    "Now I've found you," said a trembling voice and very strong, ice-cold fingers encircled my wrist.
    Startled I turned around.
    The woman holding my wrist was surely seventy years

    old-—a most dismal character, clad in a tattered Persian lamb coat. Distressingly thin, white hair straying from her old-fashioned fur hat, worn out high-button boots. Waxen face, hollow-cheeked. Dull sunken eyes, bloodless lips. In her agitation she could hardly speak. "It's almost six o'clock. I've been waiting since nine-thirty."
    "Who are you?" Was this reality? Was this old lady flesh and bl^od? Or was she as real as the seagull?
    "I'm Hermine Gottesdiener," she said with extreme dignity.
    "You have been waiting that long for me?"
    "At first I was waiting in the foyer. At three, when the clerks changed shifts, I was told to leave. No one has dared to speak to me in that manner, never! To think that my husband, may he rest in peace, and I celebrated our weddine right here in this hotel!"
    "When was that?"
    "Nineteen thirteen. And today I'm told to leave . . ."
    She was carrying an old handbag slung over one arm and a flat, heavy package under the other.
    "I said to myself you have to come down sometime. I would have waited another eight hours. I would have waited until I dropped."
    "But why?"
    Her fingers were still holding my wrist. "Because you are my last hope, Mr. Jordan. If you don't help me now I'm going to end it all."
    She wept genuine tears and let them fafl without a dab of a handkerchief. Her hands were otherwise busy holding her package, her handbag and my wrist.
    I have never forgotten the poverty we endured when I was a child. I have never forgotten cold, hunger or shame.
    "You must be hungry, Mrs. Gottesdiener."
    "Yes. No. Yes."
    "We'll go to a restaurant and you'll tell me everything. But 1 must go to the post office first."

    Her nails dug into my arm. "You want to get rid of me. You'll go back to the hotel where I'll be thrown out.'*
    "I won't go back to the hotel."
    "I've waited too long. I'U come to the post office with you."
    Now two shiny black cars pulled up in front of the hotel. Sophia Loren, Vittorio De Sica and their entourage got in. The people crowded around the cars. They yelled and laughed. Mrs, Gottesdiener was walking with short unsteady little steps. She was still holding on to my wrist.
    The first letter was addressed to Mr. Gregory Bates, 1132 Horthbury Avenue, Los Angeles, California, USA.
    The second letter was addressed to Miss Shirley Brom-field, care of Post Office, Pacific PaHsades, California, USA. To my stepdaughter I wrote:
    Dearest Heart,
    I know exactly how you must feel when you read this letter. Let me say right now, before anything else: I love you. I have never loved anyone as much as I love you; I shall never ever want anyone as much as I want you.
    Years ago a woman told me I could not love, did not know love. I don't know if that is true. All I know is: All I feel, tenderness, longing, courage, patience, selflessness, trust, loving care and admiration, is directed toward you. As great, or whatever love may be in me, is all yours and will be yours until I die.
    Shirley, my All, you must now be brave and reasonable. Reasonable — what a horrible word. And yet, now we must use good judgment. It is impossible for you to have this child. The scandal would surely ruin our future. 1 detest myself for forcing you to do this dreadful deed

    but I swear I shall make it up to you, soon. I will take care of you, protect you, love you. We shall have a child, Shirley — but not this one.
    I am also writing to Gregory Bates. You know him, he is my best friend, and you can trust him. Gregory knows many doctors. He will know who will be able to help you quickly and safely.
    I am telling him that you came to me for help because you were afraid of your mother, and that the father of your child is a younQ man from the studio. Gregory will not question you. Since he is